Fifty shades of Louisa May : a memoir of trancendental sex

141 Pages·2012·6.492 MB·English

by  Alcott, Louisa May, James, E. L., Alcott, Louisa May

Fifty
Headline qui il ma corepudae pelit etum F
i
f
eum, sit experibus voloriati omnihic ten- t
y
tem anihillabo S Shades
h
a
Doluptam eium il ilibus earibus ut verio. Ut hil idebis d
mos estiostrum quo bere nimpernatem. Ut atest adi- es of
cia pore voloreprovit es mos as et maio. Et que nobis es
o
net porest pra vellitem re, cusanit atibus nem es alis f

L
voluptas aliam rem aut ad mos aut maionsed es eveni-
o Louisa
hi llorro tentorp orentur re veribus maiosae essiti non u
i
et eat harum eaquibusapid et molorup taquodi psunten s
a
duntum ea simi, nulland untiasin perum harum quatu-
M
May
rias qui cus et hilluptata nonse voluptat utemque nis
a
dignime verro initis et officietur sequiae catempost, odit y

dest quiam nimi, aut officatem quia nos quis debissitatem

fuga. Ut audios mod que rem rempore verro cor am es

ad ent landem aut recto to destem desecta quibusam aut

porporis rem quis am volorerspere exerem quis esequis

ex essi nusam et voluptates num ipsunt id maiorum dios

senitia nimagniati omnis delitatur aut occae nisit accum

eaquam esequibuscil et vid quasinuscim fuga. Itatio vene L

simi, optaepe conemolorias M

A
n
L M Anonymous adicia pore voloreprovit es mos as et
o
maio. Et que nobis es net porest pra vellitem re, cusanit n
y
atibus nem es alis voluptas aliam rem aut ad. m
o
u
s
$XX.XX / £ XX.XX
OR Books
www.orbooks.com
Cover design by TK L M Anonymous
Cover photograph © TK
Fifty Shades of
Louisa May

Fifty Shades of
Louisa May
A MeMoir of Tr AnscendenTAl sex
L M Anonymous
OR Books
New York • London
© 2012 l M Anonymous
illustrations by William invisible
Published by or Books, new York and london
Visit our website at www.orbooks.com
first printing 2012
All rights reserved. no part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopy, recording, or any information storage retrieval
system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except
brief passages for review purposes.
Any resemblance of characters within this memoir to actual
historical figures is completely intentional.
isBn 978-1-935928-95-9 paperback
isBn 978-1-935928-96-6 e-book
Printed by BookMobile in the United states.
The printed edition of this book comes on forest
stewardship council-certified, 30% recycled paper.
The printer is 100% wind-powered.
conT enTs
editor’s note
i. dusk
ii. A History lesson
iii. A Transcendental Vision
iV. fruitlands
V. Mother receives a distinguished Visitor
Vi. The Wooden friend
Vii. in Which Great Men discourse on nature
Viii. A dramatic Moment
ix. Hospital sketches
x. The Grand Tour
xi. Behind the Mask
xii. A secret Patrimony
xiii. sunrise

ediTor’s noTe
during the recent renovations of the orchard House
in concord, Massachusetts—home of the famed Alcott
family—workmen repairing rotting beams discovered a
handwritten manuscript tightly rolled into a bottle and
buried in the earthen floor of what was once the root cellar.
conservators from Harvard University’s Peabody Museum
date the manuscript from the late 1800s. Although the
title page bears no signature, there can be little doubt of its
authenticity or its author.
The text, published for the first time, will no doubt
offend scholars—while capturing the prurient imaginations
of many readers. The author’s true purpose is lost to us, save
for hints throughout suggesting that writing this mémoire
d’amour served as a cathartic exercise. only the manuscript
remains, and it is offered in unexpurgated form here.

i.
dUsk
i turn my pen to this empty page to recount my hidden
history in words that no one else shall ever read. Too long
i have written for hungry eyes, eager to divine direction
from “Aunt Jo.” in my books they find inspiration, enter-
tainment, and comfort. in them, i find profits, fuel for the
Alcott furnace, for which i am the solitary coal-shoveler—
feeding in rubbish as fast as i can scratch words on paper.
Had i only diverted some of this ardor from the page to
the parlor, perhaps i wouldn’t be writing here alone, a thin-
waisted spinster, porcupiny and dismal company to all.
Truly, i am the ill-tempered duckling who laid the
golden egg. But no lucre will come from my work tonight.
These pages shall be a litany of love, a reminiscence of
furtive hands and eager lips, of moments so charged that
they light my mind decades later. This evening will put
to rest the memories that plague me, that pain me almost
as much as the dreaded calomel, its mercury twisting